


The Angels' War

by AvianSpirit



Category: Constantine (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Constandean, Constantine - Freeform, Crossover, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Multi, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvianSpirit/pseuds/AvianSpirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Winchesters and John Constantine both take a case of a town going crazy, mysteries unfold and secrets are revealed. The battle with the rising darkness might be more than Constantine can handle, and Sam is losing his grip on the difference between right and wrong. AU of Season 4 of Supernatural with Constantine and crew. Rated T for swearing, violence, and mild sexual themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I just finished Constantine and couldn't help but think about how similar it was to Supernatural, and I was surprised to see how few crossovers there are of the two, especially with the unsatisfactory note that Constantine left off of. This story takes place after season 4, episode 7 of Supernatural and contains spoilers for season 1 of Constantine.
> 
> I'm sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but this is my first ever crossover and I'm just trying the concept out. Please leave a review with any comments or criticisms you have, and tell me if you want me to continue writing it. Thank you!

The cold stone of the convent was slick and wet. Zed walked through the abandoned halls. She passed a window, and a beam of silver moonlight illuminated her skin. She looked up at the full moon, bulbous and luminescent. Such a beautiful night.

Suddenly, an unearthly scream shattered the quiet. A deep voice shouted – "SAM!"

Zed stumbled back as the ground began to shake. She looked down the hall just as a ray of harsh, terrifying light erupted from the end of the corridor.

Zed shot up in bed, covered in a cold sweat. She looked out of the window in her room. A thin, wispy cloud drifted in front of the waxing crescent. She drew in a deep breath and released it as a shuddering gasp as the image of the burning light lingered in the corner of her vision.

She glanced at the door to her room, left slightly ajar. There was a light flickering from down the hall, and the smell of burning incense entered her nostrils. Constantine.

She slipped out of her bed, trying to straighten her wrinkled tank top and pajama pants as she walked silently to the edge of the hall. As she suspected, John was on the main floor, candles and incense burning around him. He stood in front of golden mirror placed on an oak desk. A few feet away from the desk, a variation of a pentacle was drawn on the floor in chalk. As Zed neared the detective, her eyes widened.

Runes and symbols had been imbued into the skin on his back, shoulders, and arms. She saw incantations and spells written in Latin, Hebrew, Greek, and a dozen other languages that she didn't recognize. She cleared her throat, and John turned around, revealing a whole slew of mystical lettering and emblems painted across his torso. The Brit held an ancient-looking brush in his hand, and the tips of his fingers were dyed red, blue, and black from ink.

"Zed," he greeted, sounding slightly startled. "What are you doing up?"

The psychic shifted uncomfortably in her place. "I, uh, I couldn't sleep," she stalled. Zed nodded at the brush in John's hand. "What's that for?"

"Oh, this?" Constantine turned to place the brush in a decorated bowl by the mirror as he spoke. "Just a few precautions. Figured I needed to be more prepared for what's coming, especially since I cast off most of my protective enchantments when I invited Pazuzu in."

Zed stepped around Constantine and brushed her hand over some of the items on the desk – the bowl, a few charms, and a large tome with an Egyptian ankh on it. Even without having John explain it, she could feel the power radiating off of the objects. "So you're putting them back? The enchantments?" she inquired.

"And then some," the detective said with a wink. He stepped away from the table and into the chalk pentacle. He rubbed his hands together and then spread out his arms beside him, palms out. Then, he began to chant.

Zed felt a pulse of psychic energy emit from the circle as John's tattoos began to glow bright purple. His voice seemed to distort, the ancient words sounding as if they were spoken by a hundred people. Then, the sigils flashed red, and Constantine let out a cry of pain before collapsing onto the floor.

"John!" The psychic ran into the pentacle and knelt down beside the detective. He was on his knees, his face sweaty and his eyes screwed shut. The symbols on his body were glowing a dark and molten red. "Are you alright?" she asked. Constantine remained silent, but gave the slightest of nods. Zed released a relieved sigh. "What did you do?"

When he spoke, his voice was strained and raspy. "I just channeled the magic of a dozen or so sorcerers and minor deities into a slew of protection spells. Then I seared them into my skin." With that said, Constantine lifted his head and looked at his friend. She noticed that he was shaking. "But don't worry," he continued. "I feel peachy. Excuse me."

Zed got up and stepped back, and John began climbing to his feet, his tattoos still emitting a subtle, yet angry glow. "I am now invisible to most ghosts, demons, and other malevolent spirits of the like," he proclaimed proudly, still wavering slightly on his feet. "As well as invulnerable to possession from most, if not all, demonic entities."

Zed looked at him, confused. "Wait. If you're invisible to spirits, can Manny still see you?" she asked.

At that, the detective chuckled. "Not many things can stay hidden from an angel, luv," he said. "Manny should be able to find me, no problem."

"Huh," Zed remarked. She wandered over to the oak desk and started looking through the book. "So, if you knew all of these enchantments, why didn't you get them earlier?" she asked.

At that point, Constantine had moved over the couch, where he picked up his discarded T-shirt. He threw it on as he answered, "Well, A – because I didn't think it would work, B – because it bloody hurts, and C – I've never really had much need for it." He looked at Zed with an unreadable expression before walking back to the table and standing next to her. The psychic tensed at their closeness as his hand drifted towards hers. Her breath halted.

John gently pushed Zed's hand off of the book and closed it. Then, he moved away and began blowing out the candles. "We all need to be more prepared for what's coming," he said. "We can't be too careful anymore, especially now, with that bounty over my head." The detective grabbed a cloth from one of the tables and started wiping away the pentacle. Zed glanced at him uncertainly. His tattoos had stopped glowing, and were now inky black in color. She noticed equally dark circles under his eyes as he shifted his position slightly to reach across the pentacle. He looked like he hadn't slept for days.

Noticing Zed's stare, he stopped and sighed. "The truth is, Zed," he said sadly, "I've begun to realize that this whole thing might be a lot bigger than I had thought. The invunche, Lamashtu, maybe even the bloody Brujería... They're all just pieces of a much larger puzzle." He turned around to face Zed, his eyes haunted and sad. "I'm beginning to think that maybe I've bit off more than I can chew," he said.

Zed could only stare at Constantine, a bit taken aback. Every time he was out and about, solving a case, he was lively and confident. Seeing him now, dressed down and sleep-deprived, he appeared smaller. Almost vulnerable. It threw her off. She opened her mouth but said nothing, at a loss for words.

After a few moments, John broke eye content and stared at his bare feet. "It's late," he said. "You should get some rest, save your strength. No telling what you might need it for."

The psychic nodded slightly and turned to head back upstairs before pausing. "You might want to take your own advice, John," she remarked. "I'm not exaggerating when I say you look like shit."

The Brit scoffed. "Well, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" he said sardonically.

"I'm being serious, John," she replied. After a second's hesitation, she turned around and knelt next to the detective, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Whatever this 'rising darkness' is, you can't fight it with just a bunch of fancy tattoos. You need sleep. You need your strength," she said.

Constantine returned her gaze and offered her a brief smile. "Oh, don't worry about me, luv," he said. "I can take care of myself."

At that, Zed raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _can you?_ But she remained silent, and only slightly nodded before rising to her feet and walking upstairs. Constantine's gaze lingered after her. Then, he smirked, and continued wiping away the chalk pentacle.

The next morning, Zed walked downstairs to see Constantine in the couch in his usual dress, a white button-up with a tie and trousers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up halfway to reveal some of the marks on his arms. In his hand, he held a glass of whiskey that he was drinking from pensively while peering at the Mirror of the Past. Zed could only guess at what he saw.

She walked over to the detective, fully dressed in her tank top, jeans, and boots. "A little early for whiskey, don't you think?" she asked.

Constantine tipped his head to acknowledge her arrival, but he said nothing in response to the jab about the whiskey. Zed put her hands on her hips and regarded him carefully. "So I've been thinking," she started.

"Uh oh," he joked.

She ignored him and continued, "I think we should take a case."

John sputtered on his whiskey. "Really? Now, with all of the demons and spirits after my head?" He looked at her pointedly. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I think it would do us some good," Zed reasoned. "We've been slaving over all the books, all the signs, trying to figure stuff out. I don't think we're going to get anything done being holed up in here. If something new comes up, it'll come up. Until then, we should be out in the field, staying sharp."

John raised his eyebrows. "You have a point there, but there's one little problem, luv. How do you suppose we'll find a case?"

Zed looked at him, confused. "The map, of course."

"Manny burned the map."

" _What?_ "

The detective couldn't help but chuckle at Zed's bewildered expression. "He burned the map. Said it was only a step, said we had to start looking deeper for the signs to combat the darkness." Zed seemed at a loss for words. She hurried over to the table where the map had been and saw the pile of its ashes on the floor. She let out an angry, strangled noise.

He leaned back in the couch, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Somebody upstairs wants us working on finding a solution, without any distractions," he said. At that point, Zed had bent down and started sorting through the ashes, trying to find an unsinged piece. Finally, the psychic rose, clutching a handful of ashes angrily in her fist

"That pompous, self-righteous…" she trailed off in a flurry of furious Spanish. John could only pick up one or two words, but what little he understood wasn't very nice. Zed finished with frustrated grunt, and she threw the pile of ashes onto the floor –

– and watched it hit black asphalt. Zed started and looked around. She was on the side of a long stretch of road. Trees grew all along her, making the road appear closed in, narrow. It was hot and sticky outside, the air carrying the humid heaviness of mid-spring. From behind her, she heard the rumbling roar of an approaching car. Then, a large black car appeared from around the bend and zoomed towards her. It swerved to the side, as if trying to dodge her. Zed was able to glance inside the rolled down window. A man with shaggy brown hair was in the passenger seat, staring at her in confusion. Zed's eyes narrowed. Could he…see her?

The car quickly corrected itself, just barely missing her. It continued down the road, leading her gaze to a green sign stationed just a few yards in front of her – Willington, VA: 10 miles.

She heard a distant echo of a voice. "Zed?" it said. "Zed, what do you see?" Suddenly, her vision snapped back reality. She was back in Jasper's living room, and Constantine was standing a few feet away. His glass of whiskey was sitting on the table by the couch "Zed?" he asked uncertainly. "You alright?"

She nodded. "I was on a road," she said. "In Virginia."

"Virginia?" John echoed.

"Yeah," she said. "There was a big black car driving to a town – Willington."

"Willington, Virginia," the detective mused. He wondered back to the table and lifted his glass to his lips, swallowing down the whiskey in a single gulp. "Well, then," he said. "I guess we just found ourselves a new case."

* * *

The Chevrolet Impala zoomed down the narrow road leading to the small Virginia town. As Dean Winchester drove, he continued scanning his surroundings. So far, all he saw were trees, trees, and – hold up, _more_ trees. He sighed. "So remind me again why we're on our way to Nowheresville, Whocaresland?" he asked.

Sam gave his brother a sideways glance. "This town has been a pinnacle of demonic activity for the past two weeks," he explained again. "Residents claim to be having been experiencing vivid hallucinations, seizures, and fits of random rage and violence, resulting in 6 deaths and 10 hospitalizations in just the last few days."

"I'm not surprised," Dean said, peering out the window. "We're in the middle of nowhere. The woods, the seclusion… It looks like a horror movie waiting to happen."

"Huh." Sam looked angrily away from his brother, and Dean noticed.

"Okay, you're being broody and quiet, and it's making me uncomfortable," he said. Sam snorted and turned so that he was facing away from Dean, glaring out the passenger window angrily. "What's wrong?" he tried again.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean," Sam finally answered. "Maybe it's the fact that of the two angels I've met, they both seem to hate my guts. Neither one of them understands what I'm trying to do here. They're making me out to be this – this _unholy_ thing."

Dean's lips tightened into a thin line. "Sam – " he started.

"They're going to kill me, Dean," his brother said.

"Whoa, hey, wait. Nobody said anything about that," he interjected.

"They _want_ to," Sam said. "I'm just some monster to them."

Dean struggled to find the right words. "Okay, look. You know me – I'm possibly the person who's least fond of your thing with Ruby. But if you think that I'm going to let some celestial assholes do anything to you…" he trailed off uncomfortably, not sure how to end the sentence. "Well, it's just not going to happen," he finished awkwardly. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, and Dean cleared his throat. "Look, we're here for the case," he said. "Let's just focus on the case. We can deal with that other stuff later." Sam didn't respond, and they continued their drive in silence.

Sam looked out the window glumly. Then, he narrowed his eyes. There was someone in the middle of the road. "Dean," he said, nudging his brother.

"What, are you done with the silent treatment?" he asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Dude, look," Sam insisted. He pointed to the person standing in the street. They were getting closer and closer to her.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at his brother incredulously. "You don't see her?" They neared the person, who Sam could now see was a woman with wild, curly hair.

"See who? Sam, you're kinda freaking me out." Dean remained on his course. They were almost too close to miss her.

"Dean – _watch out!_ " Sam reached over and jerked the steering wheel to the left, trying to dodge the woman.

Dean screamed. "ARE YOU CRAZY?"

As they passed the woman, time seemed to slow down. Sam was looking out the passenger window. She was a Hispanic woman – looked to be in her late twenties, early thirties. She peered at him with black-rimmed eyes, her lips pursed in confusion.

Then, the moment was gone. Dean regained control of the steering wheel and yanked it out of Sam's grip, positioning it on the right side of the road. Sam was still looking out the window at the girl when Dean proceeded to smack him in the back of the head. "What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled.

Sam ducked his head defensively. "We almost hit her!" he objected.

"Hit _who?_ "

Sam turned around and gestured to the back window. " _Her_ ," he said before blinking in confusion. The woman was no longer there.

Dean glanced at the rearview mirror. "Sam, there is no one there," he said, his voice rough with anger.

"But…but I saw someone – "

"Stop," Dean snapped. "Do not talk to me."

Sam settled back in his seat, pondering what just happened. He was certain he had seen someone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who read my first chapter! This one's a bit longer, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Please leave a comment with any suggestions, criticisms, or concerns. Thank you!
> 
> To Shadowhawk9899: Thanks so much for commenting. Hopefully I can deliver.

The drive to Virginia was long and tedious. John had stayed holed up at Jasper’s place for so long, he’d gotten used to the darkness. Walking outside, into the sunlight caused the detective to squint uncomfortably. He found himself immediately wanting to head right back inside.

Zed noticed and laid a hand on his back to gently push him towards the car. Chas was busy with family matters, so it was just the two of them working on the case.

“You mind driving?” John asked. He hadn’t had enough whiskey to actually get drunk, but his head was still a bit cloudy, and he never liked long drives.

Zed seemed annoyed all the same, and begrudgingly agreed. The drive was roughly 8 hours long, and John never once offered to drive, even after he had surely sobered up. Instead, he looked out the window thoughtfully, causing Zed to become concerned. John wasn’t really the quiet type.

She knew why he was quiet. The way he’d been last night, Zed had only seen him like that once before – when he had sacrificed his friend, Gary Lester. Right then, she had seen the John Constantine that he always tried to hide, wracked with guilt and uncertainty. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

The pair had been driving in silence for about two hours before Zed decided to say something. “So, I had a vision last night,” she started, trying to sound casual.

John seemed to perk up, his eyes brightening. There he was. “What was it about?” he asked.

“I was in a convent or something,” she said. “There was a bright ray of light, and everything got destroyed.”

The detective snorted. “Well, that’s not at all ominous or foreboding,” he commented sardonically. He scratched his chin and mused, “Beam o’ light, eh? Little strange for what’s supposed to be a ‘rising darkness.’”

“There was something else, too,” she said. “Right before the ray hit, I heard a voice. He just screamed, ‘Sam.’”

“At least we have a name. Can’t imagine there are many Sams struttin’ about,” Constantine said. Zed furrowed her brows and gave him a sideways glance, and he smirked to show he was joking.

“It’s better than nothing,” she said.

The detective nodded, withdrawing a cigarette from his pocket and wedging it between his teeth. “True. Better than nothing,” he agreed, producing his lighter and flicking it on.

Six hours later, they had arrived in the small Virginia town. Zed was exhausted and in need of sleep. Constantine was just in need of a drink. The car rumbled down the street, and the detective was looking out the window, searching desperately for a pub. Finally, a rough, low-lying building caught his eye. A red, neon sign hung crookedly in the front, with the words “Red River” spelled out in large, all-caps font. Next to it was a little sideways-squiggle that could’ve passed as a tipped over beer bottle, its contents leaking out. Bingo.

Constantine waited until they drove slightly out of sight of the bar before squinting his eyes and holding up a wavering hand. “Wait a moment, luv,” he said.

Zed, who had before been driving in a zombie-like state, seemed to wake up a bit. The car slowed to a halt on the edge of the road. “What is it?” she asked. “Do you…are you sensing something?”

“Yeah,” the detective said solemnly. “Lots of psychic mojo working its way around this area. I should investigate.” He made a move to get out of the car.

Zed nodded and started to unbuckle. “I’m coming with,” she said.

Constantine tried not to wince. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “There’s some serious magics going on here. It might be dangerous. I’ll just scope out the area, keep a low profile. We can do some more in-depth searchin’ tomorrow.”

Zed paused to consider, but then nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll go find us a motel. Once I text you with the address, meet me there,” she said, and Constantine inclined his head slightly before exiting the vehicle. He stood by the curb and watched it drive out of site before smirking to himself and taking out a cig.

“I’m good,” he muttered under his breath, lighting the cig and taking a few puffs. He turned around and walked casually toward the bar. “I’m really good.” 

* * *

“Nothing,” Dean said angrily, slamming down a police report that he had picked up from the station. “Different ages, genders, birthdays, social backgrounds… _everything_.” He looked up at his brother. “These vics have absolutely nothing in common.”

The Winchesters were at a small bar in Willington, seated at the counter in their FBI getup. As soon as they arrived in the small town, the two hunters had visited the police station to get more intel on the various occurrences. By that time, night had fallen, and they immediately found the nearest bar. Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I mean, this is weird, right? They weren’t in the same place when they died, which rules out ghost, a lot of them are too young for it to be a crossroads demon, no common injuries, nothing!”

“Yeah, that’s definitely weird,” Sam commented before taking a swig from his beer. “I don’t even think it’s possession, based on how the people just have a few crazy hallucinations and then go right back to normal.” Sam sighed into his glass. “Looks like this might take a while.”

Dean frowned before drinking from his own glass. “Not sure how much time we have,” he muttered. Sam nodded in understanding. With the seals being broken and the angels coming down to bug him more and more often, it felt as if any second, they could be sent on a heavenly mission to stop a seal from being broken.

The door to the bar let out the small jingle that meant somebody had just entered. Dean glanced over. At first glance, all he saw was the beige trench coat, and a sense of dread filled the hunter. However, then he saw that the mess of blond hair and the cigarette wedged between his teeth, and he let out a sigh of relief. Asstiel was nowhere to be seen.

The man took one of the only empty seats at the counter – the one right next to Dean. He signaled the bartender with his hand. “Jack an’ Coke, double-short,” he said casually, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. The bartender set to making the mixture, and the man looked around the bar lazily. Dean didn’t pay him much mind until he spoke up.

“So,” he said. “Any bloke ‘round here can tell me ‘bout the goings-on of this town?” When the man didn’t say anything else, Dean turned to see he was giving him a lopsided smile.

Dean looked around. “You talking to me?” he asked. Sam glanced at the man and gave Dean a questioning look.

In response, the man shrugged. “That depends. Do you know anything about this place?” he asked.

Dean regarded the man carefully. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, taking note of the man’s English accent. He didn’t respond, but only continued looking at Dean with a playful, inquisitive expression. “What makes you think we know anything about the ‘goings-on?’” he asked.

At that moment, the bartender set a glass down in front of the man. He smiled down at the counter, picked up the glass and took a swig. “So those aren’t police reports you’re looking over, then,” he said, staring into his drink.

Dean silently cursed, and he felt Sam tense next to him. Sliding the reports out of arm’s reach of the man, he said, “Let me rephrase that. What makes you think I’m going to tell you about the ‘goings-on?’”

At that, the man turned to face Dean and cocked his head to the side. “I was mostly relyin’ on my ruggedly handsome appearance, to be honest,” he said.

Dean looked over at his brother, who was eying the man curiously. “You know, I think you’ve outstayed your welcome here,” he said.

In response, the man’s smile seemed to lose some of its charm and took on a more tight-lipped quality. He looked like he was about to give a snarky retort before he halted, bristling visibly. In that moment, Dean noticed a mark peeking out from behind the collar the man’s shirt, so small that he had easily missed it. He took notice of it because, right then, it appeared to be glowing purple.

“You know what,” the man said, “I think I have. Sorry to bother you, mate.” He gulped down the last of his drink before hopping off of the barstool and starting towards the exit. “Good luck with that police work. Pick up the tab, will ya?” he called over his shoulder as he left the bar.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dean turned to his brother. “Alright, what the hell was that?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, but that was freaking weird, man,” Dean said. “Do you think he might be involved in all of this?”

Sam shook his head uncertainly. “But normal people don’t just up and leave like that. He looked like he sensed something,” he said.

“And normal people also don’t have glowing purple tattoos hidden under their shirts,” Dean agreed. “I think we should follow him. He might know something.”

“Agreed.” Sam took out some money and left it on the counter to pay for the drinks, excluding the man’s. Then, they gathered up the police reports, got up, and followed the man outside.

In front of the building, Dean looked around. “See him?” he asked.

“Dude.” His brother nudged him and pointed to a convenience store across the street. The lights were out and the sign that hung in the doorway read, “Sorry – we’re closed,” but he could see a figure shifting around inside. The brothers looked at each other, nodded, and proceeded to the store, drawing their guns. Once there, Sam tested the doorknob and found that it gave way with ease. The lock had been broken.

They entered the store silently, guns at the ready, and immediately caught sight of a puddle of blood that stretched just passed the first row of snacks. Dean and Sam looked at each other, then passed a row of Little Debbie desserts to get a clear view of the register.

The cashier was a pale, skinny boy who looked to be around 18. He was bend backwards over the counter, his throat slashed open and still dripping blood onto the floor. Sam let out a groan. “Fresh,” he said. “Looks like he’s only been here for an hour at most.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “But if he’s dead, then who did we see moving around here?” he asked.

“That would be me, lads.”

Sam and Dean turned around to see the English guy from the bar standing a few yards away, a pistol in his hands and aimed at the hunters. “What do you think you’re doing here?” he asked suspiciously.

Dean answered, “We could ask you the same question. Nice handiwork you did here, by the way.” He gestured to the dead cashier. “So what was it?” he asked. “Some sort of spell? Hypnotism? Possession?”

“You think I did this,” the man said flatly.

“Well I don’t exactly see any other candidates hanging around. Who are you?” Dean said.

The Englishman scoffed. “Who are _you?_ ”

“We’re they guys with the authority around here,” he said. Dean and Sam simultaneously reached inside their coats.

“Ah ah ah,” the man said, taking a step forward with his pistol now aimed directly at Dean’s chest.

“Relax,” the hunter said, drawing out his badge as his brother did the same. “Agents Wayne and Kent, FBI,” he said confidently.

The man pursed his lips and looked carefully at the badges from his safe distance. Then, he _tsk_ ed, not lowering the gun. “Those are fake badges, mate,” he said.

“What?” Dean sputtered, caught off guard. He looked at Sam, who seemed equally as alarmed. “No they’re not,” he tried lamely.

“Afraid so, luv. Good try, though. I’m Detective John Constantine, Willington Police Department,” he said. Gun still trained on Dean, the man reached into his own coat pocket and brought out his own ID card. Dean couldn’t read the words from his distance, but it seemed legit.

Beside him, Sam snorted. “I doubt that. Nice glamour, by the way,” he said. And sure enough, as soon as the words left his mouth, Dean saw the card shimmer and warp until it was no longer an ID card, but a seven of diamonds.

The man tilted his head in grudging respect. “Good eye,” he said. “So, since you two bothered with fake badges instead of possessing real FBI agents, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that neither of you are demons?”

“Safe assumption,” Sam said.

“Huh.” The Brit lowered the gun and put it in his concealed belt holster. “The name really is John Constantine, though. I’m probably here for the same reason you are.”

Dean nodded. “The recent deaths. Know anything about this one?” he asked, looking again at the cashier.

Constantine had started looking down the aisles of the store, checking for something. “Whatever killed that boy is still in here. You two should probably clear out before you get yourselves hurt,” he said.

At that, Dean drew himself up and glared at the Englishman angrily. Though he was taller than the other man by at least a couple inches, the hunter found he was able to match his gaze with equal ferocity. “We’re not going anywhere, buddy. This is _our_ case,” he said.

The man gave Dean a look of clear annoyance. “Oh, it’s _your_ case? Well, excuse me, I suppose I’ll just leave you to it, then,” he retorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Sam interjected, “Who are you, anyway? Are you a hunter?”

Constantine scoffed. “A hunter? Like I would associate myself with those animals!” he exclaimed.

“Hey,” Dean said in a warning tone.

The man looked between the two brothers, a look of frustration plain on his face. “Oh, don’t tell me,” he said. “You’re not…?” The Winchesters said nothing, and he barked out a harsh laugh. “Just my luck. Walk into a store with a dead kid and two bleedin’ hunters. This is perfect.”

“Hey, we’re not thrilled about this, either, pal,” Dean said angrily.

In response to that, Constantine sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, you two really need to sod off. This above your paygrade, and I don’t have time to babysit a couple of _hunters_.” He said the word in the same tone one would use for “rats” or “noxious mildew.”

Dean was about ready to punch the man. “We’re not going anywhere!” he said.

“Alright, you two, knock it off!” Sam said suddenly. Both Dean and John looked at him, fuming. The hunter took a deep breath and continued, “Look, whether or not we like it, the fact is that we’re all here working the same case anyway. Let’s just help each other out, and maybe this whole thing will be over with quicker.”

“Fine,” Dean said.

The Brit was glaring at Sam indignantly. “Yeah, alright,” he said finally. “Why don’t you two check around the store, and I’ll look for any demonic residue or…shite like that.” He finished the sentence in a grumble and left the two alone as he combed through the aisles.

“Hey, don’t try to tell me what to – ” Dean started, but Sam put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“Now’s not the time, Dean,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Dean looked at his brother with narrowed eyes and said, “Your cooperation is sickening,” before starting towards the opposite end of the store.

For a while, the three exorcists checked around the store, in between the aisles and behind the counter, finding nothing. Dean was searching through a stack of Pringles when he suddenly lashed out and sent a can flying. “Fucking nothing,” he said. “Not even a speck of sulfur.” He started out of the aisle, searching for his brother. “Sam, there’s nothing – ” Dean stopped midsentence, a wave of nausea washing over him.

“Dean?” Sam peeked around the corner and started towards him. “Did you find something?”

“I…I don’t…” Dean couldn’t get out a complete sentence before falling hard onto his back.

“Dean!” Sam rushed over to his brother and knelt on the floor beside him. “Dean! Snap out of it man, wake up!”

But Dean wouldn’t answer. His body jerked and twitched on the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head. Constantine came around the aisle and stood over Dean as he convulsed. “What the bugger is he doing?” he asked.

“I – I don’t know! Do something! Help him!” Sam said frantically.

John looked around the store, trying to find what was causing the attack, when his eyes locked on a small, catlike creature crouched in the corner by the bathrooms. The detective drew himself up with a smirk. _Gotcha._ He was prepared to yell out an incantaion when Dean suddenly stopped convulsing. Both John briefly turned his attention to the hunter, and his eyes fluttered open, staring up at Sam and the detective.

“Dean, is it?” John asked slowly. “How ya feelin’?”

The hunter responded by opening his mouth in a silent scream, his eyes wide with terror.

“Dean?” Sam asked uncertainly.

John regarded the other hunter. “Sam, I think we should – ” He was cut off when Dean launched himself at the detective, yelling furiously.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed as the two went rolling across the floor.

“No! You’re not taking me! _You’re not taking me!_ ” Dean screamed. All the fear in his voice and expression had quickly turned to pure, undiluted rage. He got to his feet quickly and grabbed Constantine off the floor before slamming his fist into his jaw.

“Dean, stop it,” John managed to gurgle out before the hunter threw him into the rack of candy. The shelf toppled over, some of the panels breaking apart in wooden chunks as it hit the floor. The detective tried to scramble away, but Dean grabbed him by the shirt collar and threw him once more – this time into the wall. He slammed against it with an _oof_ and crumpled to the floor.

“I’m not going back. I’ll kill you first!” Dean’s voice was guttural and animalistic. It barely sounded human.

Sam came up behind him and grabbed Dean’s arm, trying to slow him down. “Dean, this isn’t you,” he tried, but his brother whirled around and socked Sam in the chin with astounding force. He stumbled back, winded.

As Dean turned around, John attempted to surprise him from behind, throwing a punch at the hunter. Dean caught his fist and kneed John in the abdomen, causing the detective to hunch over painfully. “Wait,” he groaned. “It’s the demon. Dean, the demon is – ” Again, Dean punched him hard in the face before the Brit could finish the sentence.

John fell onto his side. From his position on the floor, he could see the demon quickly making its way to the door of the convenience store, trying to exit. “It’s getting away. Sam, get the – ” He was met with a sharp kick in the gut, and he coughed, rolling onto his side.

By that time, Sam had regained his senses. He looked around and caught sight of the demon. He started towards it, but Dean took the time to grab John’s limp body and hurl it at his brother, knocking them both to the floor.

“I’m gonna destroy you, demon scum!” he yelled.

Constantine struggled to his feet and spit out a mouthful of blood. He looked around for the demon, but it was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, bugger,” he muttered. Then, Dean appeared before him, and grabbed him again by his shirt, this time pinning him against the wall.

“I’m not going down there again,” he annunciated. He drew back his fist and prepared to bash it into the Brit’s face when he suddenly blinked in confusion, as if waking up from a dream.

Sam took this opportunity to get to his feet and grasp Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, it’s me,” he said. “Stop this.”

Dean still seemed a little dazed. “I…Sam…?” he managed before John sucker-punched him in the stomach. Dean dropped him and stumbled back, bumping into his brother, who looked up at the detective in shock.

“You bloody let it get away!” Constantine screamed, getting ready to land another blow. Sam managed to get in between the two, shoving the smaller man away from his brother.

“John, stop!” he said. “It’s Dean! He’s fine!”

Constantine was still fuming. “No, it bloody isn’t!” he yelled. “We had it! The demon was right here, and _he_ let it get away!”

“Can you shut up for a second?” Sam said. He turned to look at his brother. “Are you okay?”

Dean was shaking his head, bewildered. “What happened?” he asked.

Before Sam had the chance to answer, Constantine said, “What happened is that you went absolutely mental! You let the demon get in your head. It made you see things, made you attack us.”

Dean shook his head once more. “But…I saw – ”

“It doesn’t matter what you saw, does it now?” Constantine spat. “It. Wasn’t. Real.” He spat out another glob of bloody saliva. “Now I have to track the thing down all over again. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with hunters,” he muttered.

“Hold on,” Dean said, now more angry than he was confused. “How come you weren’t affected?”

John made an exasperated sound. He pushed up the sleeve of his coat and shirt, revealing a series of runes and symbols imbued in his skin. “Protective enchantments,” he said. “I _can’t_ be affected.” He turned and squinted at Sam, as if just then realizing that he, too, hadn’t been affected.

Sam saw the questioning look and explained quickly, “Demon magic doesn’t really work on me.”

Constantine snorted. “Neat trick. Now bugger off.” He pulled down his sleeve and began walking towards the door.

“Wait a second,” Sam objected. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The detective stopped turned sharply to face Sam and advanced towards him until he was right in the hunter’s face. “I’m going to chase down the demon that _your_ brother let escape. Then I’m going to kill the bastard, and hopefully never see your sorry faces ever again.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault!” Dean said. “That demon – ”

“Got the better of you,” John finished. “You went in here half-assed, and it turned your brain into its personal play-toy as a result.”

“Do you want another ass-kicking?” Dean growled. “Because I can… Wait, who’s the chick?”

He was staring at something behind Constantine, and the detective turned around. “Oh, bollocks,” he said, turning to face the door and preparing himself for what was to come

Zed Martin was fast approaching the convenience store, anger clear on her face. As soon as she opened the door, Constantine braced himself.

“ _The bar?_ ” she snarled. “You ditched me to go to the fucking _bar?_ ”

John flinched at the venom in her voice. “How did you find me?” he asked.

“You didn’t show up at the motel, and when you didn’t answer your phone, I thought you were dead or something!” As she was talking, Zed approached the detective until they were barely a breath away from each other. In her boots, she was almost eye-level with him, and she glared at him menacingly. “I had to go asking around to find out where you really were! The fucking bartender told me you were here! The _bartender!_ ”

Constantine had started to back away from her, hand up in a defensive gesture. “Let’s not overreact here,” he said gently.

“ _Overreact?_ I think you’re dead, and I find you here with these two – ” She stopped midsentence when she looked up at the two hunters. More specifically, she was staring at Sam. And he was staring right back.

“You’re the girl from the road,” he said.

“You were in the car. You could see me,” Zed said, all signs of aggression gone.

John looked between the two in utter confusion. “Okay, what the hell is going on here?” he asked.

Dean was frowning. “I’m with English,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam and Dean Winchester had checked into a motel that was only a few minutes' drive from the Red River bar. Right then, the hunters, Zed, and John were in their motel room, equal parts tense and confused.

The main room was set up with a small, round table stationed near the door, two twin beds backed against the wall, and a couch placed opposite the beds. Zed was sitting at the foot of the bed farthest from the door while John was lounging on the couch. Sam and Dean both stood by the table.

"So let me get this straight," Zed said. She looked up and pointed at the two brothers. "You two are hunters?"

"And pretty famous ones at that," John answered before the brothers could. The detective looked like shit. His hair was in disarray, and a few blond patches were discolored with blood. He had a black eye and a split lip. He sat forward on the couch, his elbows on his thighs, grimacing from the movement. "Sam and Dean – you're the Winchesters, aren't ya?"

Sam straightened his back and crossed his arms. "You've heard of us?"

John nodded. "Your ignorance and stupidity is world-famous, mate," he said matter-of-factly. "Opening the Gates of Hell…that made waves." He gave the hunters a mocking smile. "A lot of people wouldn't thank you for that."

Dean hadn't said a word since the four of them had entered the motel room, but he visibly tensed when the detective made that jab. He was liking this guy less and less as the minutes wore on.

Sam managed to brush off the insult. "So if you're not a hunter," he said, "what are you?"

"Exorcist, Demonologist, and…er, Experimenter of the Dark Arts," he replied. He looked like he was about to say more, when Dean suddenly spoke up.

"Well, this is all very interesting, but I'm still asking myself one question." He turned to his brother. "Why are we still wasting time with these guys?"

Constantine got up off the couch and pointed at the hunter. "He's got a point," he said, addressing Zed. "This is  _our_  case. We ought to be out there, finding the demon that these two meatheads let get away."

Zed whipped her head around and glared at Constantine. "Can you shut up for a second? I'm still mad at you." Then, she looked up at Sam. "You saw me while I was in a vision," she said. "Nobody's ever done that before. So how did you?"

Sam returned her gaze, trying to size her up. "Honestly, I have no idea," he said. "I mean, I'm kind of psychic, but I haven't been able to have a vision since…" He trailed off and looked at his brother. He hadn't had a vision since he started using his ability to exorcise demons, since he started hanging out with Ruby. But he didn't want to tell these two strangers that he'd been working with a demon for the past four months.

He swallowed. "I haven't had a vision in a long time," he finished.

Dean was looking at Sam with an unreadable expression when he turned back to Zed and Constantine. "So you two had this crazy psychic moment. Big deal. I still don't understand why we're still having this conversation," he said impatiently.

"What if we can help each other?" Zed suggested.

Both Dean and John did a double take. "Zed, I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," he said.

"Yeah, this plan seems a little…you know,  _bad_ ," Dean agreed.

Sam seemed neither surprised nor bothered. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Zed, and was right then giving her a thoughtful look. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Well, think about it," Zed said. "If I had a vision about you, that means that we're both supposed to be here. You and your brother have some sort of part to play in this case. And maybe since we're both psychic, we can figure out where these demons are going to be next."

Sam turned to his brother. "It's worth a shot," he said with a shrug.

John looked between the three people. "Are you taking a piss?" he asked. "No. No, I don't think this is a good idea." He looked at Dean hopefully. "You don't think this is a good idea, do you?"

"Yeah, I'm going to have to agree with blondie here," the hunter said to his brother. "Sam, I can't work with him. This can't end well."

"Come on, Dean. It's one case. And we have a serious shot at this with another psychic here," Sam reasoned.

Then, Dean grabbed his brother by the arm and took him aside, lowering his voice so that only he could hear. "Do I really need to remind you not to use your powers? Dude, the freaking  _angels_  told you not to. You weren't born with these powers like she probably was. It was given to you by the same demon that killed our mom. Isn't that reason enough not to use it?" he asked in a furious whisper.

Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, I know what you're thinking right now," he whispered back.

"No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't even consider this."

"But," Sam continued, "I have a serious feeling about this."

Dean stepped back, looking at his brother incredulously. "A serious feeling?" he asked before glancing over at Zed, who was staring at the two brothers expectantly. Then it clicked, and Dean forced a laugh. "Oh," he said to his brother in an undertone. "So you're about to use your demon powers because you've got a fucking hard-on. Is that it?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, come on."

"No. Fine," Dean said, raising his voice so that Zed and John could hear. He backed away from his brother and put his hands up in a sign of defeat. "Whatever. You two work your psychic mojo so we can get this over with."

" _What?_ " John was flabbergasted. He rubbed his scruffy chin, staring at the ground. "Unbelievable," he said. "Un-bloody-believable." He started towards the door, muttering to himself.

"John, where are you going?" Zed called after him.

"I need a smoke," he said curtly, walking out the door and shutting it loudly behind him.

Sam and Dean turned their attention back to Zed, who was staring at the door uncomfortably. "Sorry," she said. "He just… He doesn't work well with others."

Sam shrugged. "It's fine," he said before walking over and sitting at the foot of the other bed, directly across from her. "So, how do you suppose we do this?" he asked.

Zed shook her head, offering him a sad smile. "No idea. I guess…just concentrate?" she suggested. Sam half-smiled at her, and the psychic held out her hands to him. He took them, and they both closed their eyes and concentrate.

At this point, Dean had started getting uncomfortable. "You know what?" he said. "You guys just do your thing. I'll just wait outside." Then, he turned around and left the room.

John was standing just outside the door, right in front of the parked Impala. He had a cigarette in his mouth as he furiously worked with his lighter, which appeared to be stuck. He flicked it over and over again, but to no avail. Dean walked up to him, pulling his own lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on, and offering it up the Brit.

The detective gave the hunter a peculiar look before leaning over and lighting his cig. He took a few puffs before saying, "Didn't take you for a smoker."

"I'm not," Dean said, "but a lighter can come in handy in my line of work." Constantine nodded in agreement and continued smoking. "Um…" the hunter started awkwardly. "I'm sorry about kicking your ass earlier."

The detective narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Okay, firstly, you didn't kick my arse. I just didn't want to hurt you because I knew you were under the demon's influence."

Dean snorted. "Sure," he said.

" _Secondly,_ " he continued. "Apology accepted." He fell silent again, puffing from his cigarette thoughtfully.

Dean stepped away and shoved his hands in his pockets. It was cool out, and the night was quiet save for the chirping of crickets. The two stood there in silence for a few beats before John suddenly spoke up. "I'm not even supposed to be working a case right now," he said.

Dean looked at the detective. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"A higher-up wanted me to stop looking at cases like this," John answered. "He said I should be working on more important stuff."

"'Higher up?'" Dean echoed. "What, like an angel?"

Again, John looked at him curiously. "Yeah, actually. An angel by the name o' Manny. You've had run-ins with his kind before?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Please," he said. "Nowadays, it seems like they won't leave me alone."

"Showin' up at the worst times," John said.

"All self-righteous and patronizing," Dean added.

"Always willing to spout some condescending jackass-ery." John snorted, smoke floating from his nostrils. "I can relate." Dean chuckled at that, and John smirked. Still smiling slightly, John took out his cigarette and flicked some ash aside, exhaling smoke. "So what's going on between you and Sam?" he asked. Dean looked surprised, and John gave him a sideways glance. "Come on," he said. "I've caused enough fights to know when one is going on."

Dean looked at the ground and sighed. "I don't like it when Sam uses his powers," he admitted. "Neither do the angels. He's gotten in trouble before because of the way he is, and I don't want him putting himself in danger because of some girl." The hunter hesitated and looked at John apologetically. "No offense," he said.

"None taken," John said coolly. "To tell you the truth, I'm don't like how she's so fond of your brother, either."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the detective. "Are you two a thing?" he asked.

"No," John said, a little too quickly. He glanced up to see that the hunter was still looking at him skeptically. He sighed and took another puff of his cigarette. "I mean, not really," he revised. "Neither of us have really started anything but…" He shrugged. "What can I say? The girl's grown on me."

Dean nodded, and John dropped his cigarette to the concrete sidewalk, snuffing it under the sole of his shoe. "I'll go check on our psychics," he said. "Cheers."

With that, the Brit turned and walked back into the motel room. Dean almost went in after him until he heard a gruff voice speak up from behind him. "Hello, Dean" it said.

Dean rolled his eyes before turning around. "Cas," he greeted.

The angel was standing by the Impala, looking royally pissed off. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

Dean gave him a fake smile. "You'll have to be a bit more specific," he said.

"You're working with John Constantine." It almost sounded like an accusation.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah? So?"

Castiel made a frustrated noise and took a few steps towards the hunter. "John Constantine," he began, "is an unscrupulous magician at his best. At his worst, he's arrogant, presumptuous, and willing to risk anybody's life to meet his own ends."

"Sound familiar?" Dean asked hotly.

The angel breathed deeply, as if trying to calm himself. "If you are working with this man as a means of spiting me, I can tell you there are smarter ways of doing it. Working with Constantine is not only dangerous, but stupid." He looked at the hunter desperately. "Please tell me you're not stupid, Dean."

"You know, I'm curious," Dean responded. "How is it that you're so against Constantine? He says he's being visited by an angel, too – Manny."

At that, Castiel rolled his eyes. "You mean Manuel," he said. "I'm well aware of his…fondness of John Constantine."

"Then what's the big deal? You and your brothers have a pretty dysfunctional relationship if you're that bothered by John's involvement in all this," Dean asked.

Castiel seemed to get more and more aggravated with each passing second. "Of all the angels in my garrison, Manuel is by far the most prideful," he explained. "He's been known to get too connected to the humans under his protection. He gets too involved, intervenes when he shouldn't."

"Wait, so you're saying he actually  _does_ shit?" Dean raised his arms. "I like him already."

"You're not listening to me, Dean!" Castiel snapped. "John Constantine has already damned numerous souls to Hell, himself included. He will drag everyone down with him."

"I still don't get it! This is one case. There are a few demons on the loose. Once we gank 'em, we'll be on our way. No damnation necessary." Dean argued.

"This isn't just a regular case," the angel said.

"What?"

"You have an opportunity to stop a seal from being broken here, and you're not only letting Constantine get in your way, but you're also allowing Sam to use his powers." He narrowed his eyes. "Have you already forgotten Uriel's warning? If Sam loses control of his abilities, we will have to end him."

Dean blinked in confusion. "Wait a second," he asked. "What do you mean? What's the seal?"

Castiel didn't scoffed, looking frustrated. He appeared like he wanted to say more, but instead he only said, "Stop the seal. Defeat the witch. And don't trust John Constantine." With that, he left.

"Wait!" Dean called after him. "What are you talking about? Who's the witch?" But by then, the angel was long gone.

Dean turned around angrily. "Damn cryptic angels," he muttered.

Suddenly, the door to the motel opened, and John poked his head through. "Dean," he said. "You're brother's asking for you."

"Yeah, I'll be in in a second," the hunter replied.

"Are you alright?" Constantine asked. "I thought I heard shouting out there."

"Can you give me a second?" Dean snapped. The detective held his hands up and went back inside the motel room. Dean looked up at the sky, then followed.

Back in the room, Zed and Sam were sitting on the same bed, and John was standing by the couch. They were waiting expectantly as Dean entered the room and closed the door behind him. "I was just talking to Cas," he reported.

Sam's eyes widened, but John and Zed just looked confused. "Who's Cas?" Zed asked.

"Castiel. He's an angel," Sam explained quickly before turning his attention back to Dean. "What did he say?" he asked.

"This isn't just the work of demons," Dean said. "Somehow a witch is involved. She wants to break a seal."

"Jesus Christ," Sam said.

"Bloody hell," added John.

"Hold on, here," Zed asked. "I'm lost. Seal?"

"Seals are like locks on the doors of Hell," John said. "In reality, there are hundreds of seals, but if you manage to break 66 of them, then Lucifer walks free."

Dean looked at the Brit in confusion. "How did you know about the seals?" he asked.

"Please," the detective said. "I'm not an amateur. When you work my kind of job, then you learn about the workings of Hell pretty damn quickly."

"Huh," Dean said. "So, yeah. We're looking for a witch."

"Well, then, I think we know where she's hiding," Sam said. He looked at Zed.

The psychic was still bewildered at the news of the 66 Seals, but she managed to stammer, "We had a shared vision. There's an abandoned steel mill at the edge of town. I…I guess that's where the witch is hiding."

"That makes things easy," Dean said. "We go to the steel mill, gank the witch and her demons, problem solved."

"What, right now?" Zed asked.

"There a problem with that?"

"There are lots of problems with that, mate," John spoke up.

Dean turned to the Brit, annoyed. "What?" he asked.

"Well for one thing, it's almost 6 in the morning. The sun'll be up soon, and as soon as the darkness goes, so does the witch. I've been dealing with magic-wielders for a long time, and they almost always work at night. If we go the mill before nightfall, then the witch will surely know we're there, and she won't come back." The detective sniffed and scratched the back of his head. "Secondly, I'm feeling a bit beat up at the moment. If I'm not at my full strength when we find the witch, then I won't be a lick of good in a fight."

Dean blinked. "You want to rest?  _Now?_ "

John met Dean's stare and returned it with equal anger. "Yeah, after the beating  _you_  gave me," he said, "lest we forget."

Sam looked at his brother. "He has a point, Dean," he said. "That vision took a bit out of me, too. And you  _were_ just in a fight. A little sleep would do us all some good."

Dean shook his head. "Fine. Alright. We'll get some rest, but as soon as the sun sets tomorrow, we go to the mill."

"Agreed," John said.

Dean looked at the detective, remembering Castiel's words. He'd met his fair share of morally-questionable people. Hell, he was one. But the angel said that Constantine had damned other people to Hell, and, having  _been_  to Hell, he felt as if he had just formed a grudge against the detective. As much as he didn't like Castiel, there was some truth to what he said. John Constantine couldn't be trusted. Dean ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly tired. "The sooner we deal with this, the better," he said.

* * *

Zed and John were back at their motel, in the room that Zed had rented out for them. She was lying down on her bed when she heard a yelp of pain from the detective.

"Ah!  _Shit_ ," John hissed from his position in front of the bathroom mirror.

Zed looked up, but was unable to look into the doorway from where she was sitting. "Are you alright?" she asked.

The lights to the bathroom flicked off, and Constantine emerged from the threshold, holding his shirt in his hand. A dozen or so band-aids covered the multiple cuts that decorated his bare torso, and a bandage was swathed around his shoulder. In addition to that, innumerable dark purple bruises discolored the skin on his chest, stomach, and back, making the dark ink of his tattoos hard to make out. "That bloody hunter hits hard," he huffed through his discomfort. "I'm just lucky that he didn't damage any of my spells."

Zed chuckled lightly at the detective's discomfort, earning her an irritated glare. "Why is it that you hate hunters so much?" she asked.

John sat down on his bed, groaning at how his muscles stretched and contracted painfully. "Besides the fact that this one beat me to a bloody pulp?" he asked.

"Be serious," the psychic insisted.

The detective sighed. "Well, they're sodding prejudiced, for one thing," he said. "They have no respect for us spell-casters, though they abuse and exploit our work without a second thought. And they're a brutish lot – awfully fond of their guns. They're the type who just shoot first, and ask questions later." John looked at Zed sadly. "You can't reason with that lot. You just stand back and hope they don't make everything go tits-up."

Zed bit her lip. "What if these guys are different?"

John snorted, taking off his socks and shoes before kicking back and lying down on his bed. "What makes you think the Winchesters are any different?" he asked.

"Well, Sam seemed nice," Zed offered.

At that, John scoffed. "Yeah, I bet he seemed real nice," he muttered unhappily.

* * *

"I think we should take care of it tonight," Dean said.

Sam was in his pajamas, getting into his bed when he turned around and looked at Dean quizzically. "Without John and Zed?" he asked.

"Yes, without John and Zed," Dean answered.

Sam let out a short laugh. "Alright, I'll bite. Why do you think we should go without them?"

"Cas said that Constantine couldn't be trusted. And I just have a funky feeling about the chick," Dean said, crossing his arms.

Sam looked taken aback. "We're not going without Zed, Dean," he said. "She helped me find the place. It's only fair that – "

" _Fair?_ " Dean interrupted. "Sam, she didn't help you at all. Hell, you're not even supposed to be using your powers! If we bring those two along, this whole thing could turn to shit."

Sam stood up from his bed, fuming. "Are we really going to keep talking about my powers, Dean?" he demanded.

"We're going to keep talking about them as long as they keep being an issue," Dean said. "Cas knows you were using the, Sam, and he's not happy about it. He said that if you slip up once, that'll be it. Because either he'll kill you, or Uriel will."

Sam took a menacing step forward. "Yeah, let's talk about Uriel, why don't we? He had some interesting things to say about you last time he was here."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"Back in the convenience store," Sam said. "You saw something. Something that scared you so much, you almost killed a man." Dean was silent, looking at Sam with an expression hallway between fear and rage. "It was Hell, wasn't it?" Sam asked. "You remember Hell."

Dean hesitated, then turned away, tense. "We're not talking about this," he said.

"Yeah, and why the hell not?"

"Because it doesn't even matter!" Dean shouted, whirling back around to face his brother.

Sam said nothing for a few seconds. "Doesn't matter?" he said quietly. "You were in Hell, Dean. I was here, I could've helped, but you didn't let me. You decided to lie to my face until I had to find out for myself."

"Yeah, so I lied," Dean said. "So what? It's over. I'm out. And I'm not going to talk about it anymore."

Sam scowled. "Fine," he said. "You do what you want, Dean. You always do what you want. But let me tell you this – we're going to fight the witch tomorrow. And we're taking Zed."

Dean didn't say anything. He turned around and got in his own bed. They didn't so much as look at each other until the next morning.


End file.
